The film, Zviagintsev's Elena, about which I wrote briefly a few posts back, has stayed on my mind, so I've decided to try to explain it more thoroughly.
I said before that it was not entertaining per se, but instead thought-provoking and troubling. Despite its quotidian subject matter, or perhaps because of it, I found it disturbing. Each major character lives a life with which the viewer can easily identify. That said, they are real in some way, rather than being types or stereotypes. Each, in order to "just get by" is compromised or, rather, has made some choice which compromises them: Each chooses depend on someone else out of a sense of either helplessness - or entitlement. They exploit their relationships, and the power imbalances within them, to achieve what they want, rather than working to achieve a balance that is mutually beneficial and supportive.
The central characters are Vladimir, a wealthy businessman of some sort, somewhat past 60, and his wife, Elena, somewhat younger. They met when he was a patient in a hospital, appendicitis if I remember correctly, and she - a nurse. They have been together for approximately ten years, married for a rather shorter time, and each has a child--now an adult--from a previous marriage.
As I was watching the film, I considered that perhaps Katya, Vladimir's daughter, was the potential exception, the character who, despite superficial appearances, defies to the above characterization. Now I'm certain that it fits her as well. She plays her father expertly, as only daddy's girl can. At the same time, there's a something in her expression, speech, and body language that suggests that she despises him for the very thing that gives their relationship any footing at all, his unquestioning provision of anything material she requests. She despises him in a way, I think, a person can only despise one to whom they owe a debt. Thus Katya's compromise; she craves independence from her stern but doting father, but she depends on his money--and the expectation of his inheritance.
However, we also see her relationship to Elena, her ostensible step-mother. Elena feels acutely Katya's haughty sense of superiority based on class, education, wealth, and status. Katya is rude and dismissive, and Elena returns the favor by denouncing her to her father as a spoiled brat, to whom he has never denied anything.
Concomitantly, Elena's relationship with Vladimir is another compromise. Whatever the conditions and nature of their relationship in the past, it is now a sort of dystopian sort of world-turned-inside-out. He needs (or rather, has) not a wife, but a maid, cook, and nurse. They have a sexual relationship, but there is little warmth between them. In fact, the film's first line of dialogue sets the tone. Him, to her, over the breakfast that she prepares him daily: "The oats are good." Each of those aforementioned roles she plays while occupying her own modest bedroom at the other end of their otherwise opulent apartment in a posh Moscow neighborhood. Her material needs are met, but it is very clear that her emotional ones are anything but fulfilled.
Vladimir, on the other hand, retains all power, not the least of which are control over finances and the right to a wandering philanderer's eye, evidenced by his ogling of a woman in the gym just moments before the heart attack that, after some twenty-five or thirty minutes of growing tension and sparse and therefore effective movie-score strings, sets the plot in motion.
Thus he has made his choices: he has made her dependent on him financially, while being dependent on her to care for him both before, and most certainly after, the heart attack incapacitates him. He has also made his choices. Moreover, he professes that he refuses to help her son out of "tough love" toward Sergei, regardless of his willingness to provide anything for Katya. Eventually, he contemplates reserving not half of, but his entire estate for Katya in a petulant attempt to keep her son and his family away from his wealth.
And then there is the son himself, Sergei. And his own wife, son, baby, and, as we learn, a third child soon-to-be. They are as close as Zviagintsev comes to allowing himself stereotypes. However, as far as I am aware, Russian film has thus far little portrayed their type and so it has somehow avoided becoming trite, cliched. They are, in an attempt to place them in American terms, urban white trash.
Early in the film, we watch Elena leave the marbled halls of the tower in which she is caged. She collects her modest state pension and journeys far beyond the edges of Moscow to the post-industrial wasteland in the shadow of a power plant where their apartment is situated. She delivers the stash of rubles (and a bag of groceries bought on Vladimir's dime) into the hands of Sasha, who pockets a little for cheap beer and gives the rest to his wife for the provision of food. This portrays their poverty, the class divide between the Vladimir and his wife, and the physical decay of the post-Soviet Russian reality for those beyond Moscow's glitter and glam. It also serves to demonstrate Sergei's helpless but entitled dependence on troubled, even desperate, yet comfortable Elena.
But they want more from Vladimir, whom they hardly know, and who cannot tolerate the thought of helping "others." What Sergei and his tragically overstretched wife want is for the elder son--Sasha--to avoid military service (to be avoided at any cost in Russia, given the living conditions and hazing by most accounts rampant) by gaining entry into higher education.
The young man is aimless, probably blamelessly, given the socio-economic conditions of the post-industrial wasteland that surrounds their apartment block. His way out - gaining access to higher education on his own merit - he closes by avoiding study in favor ofss, probably blamelessly, given the socio-economic conditions of the post-industrial wasteland that surrounds their apartment block. His way out - gaining access to higher education on his own merit - he closes by avoiding study in favor of first person shooter games and petty brawling between his clique of friends and its neighboring counterparts. Thus it will take money to buy his way, by hook or by crook, into a university or college.
The wife is, although a minor character, more sympathetic than any. She attempts to maintain order, culture, and decorum in the face of a slobbish husband and a surly teenage son, but she manages neither exercise her considerable authority in the family to encourage Sergei to do anything but drink beer and get her pregnant, nor to induce Sasha into taking his education seriously.
Without giving too much away, Elena takes drastic action to secure the grandson's admission and a substantially more comfortable existence for her son, daughter-in-law, and their 2.3 children. That leads, of course, to the ultimate question: Are her actions moral, the 'right thing to do'? Is everything, including harm to a man who is in many regards reprehensible, permissible to secure the material needs of those who are dependent on you?
We are, as the audience, expected to see her as the protagonist. But are we to be sympathetic? In a Hollywood multiplex block-hit cine-buster, there would be clear good guys and clear bad guys. But here, the point is finer. In fact, I think it sits on the point of a pin. Is blood thicker than water, or whatever makes up the bond that holds Elena and Vladimir together?
To be honest, I think I could sympathize more with her if her actions toward him were in revenge for the apparent emotional abusiveness of their relationship, rather than in pursuit of the money.
At bottom, the conflict is about money. But where does that get them? Vladimir had it, but was he a good person? A happy person? And Katya? She has it, but is she happy? And as for lacking it, Sasha, the lump that he is, has a certain childish joie de vivre, despite the poverty and chaos around him.
On the one hand, money as the motivating force for the plot disappoints, for it seems such a hackneyed, trite way for an artist to create a conflict for his tale. And yet, there is something true in that struggle, which seems to consume us all. And this, with a nod toward another film I've seen recently, honors Hemingway's dictum that an artist's work is good because it is true. This is not a commentary on Russia's upper crust, although theirs is the pursuit of money. It is not a condemnation even of Russian society, but rather of all of us. You might grandly say, of our entire civilization.
And that brings me to a final point: Chekhov. I'll bet you didn't see that coming. This film has more than a little something of Chekhov within. As I was watching, I thought of this Chekhov short story. Chekhov is esteemed - rightly so, in my humble opinion - by many, especially beyond Russia, because there is something universal in his stories. His stories, in a way that those of most other great Russian writers do not, works in translation. He created the believable, the typical, but not with stereotypes. His stories place the reader in situations in which something universal resonates. These situations, lacking an author-imposed apparatus of moral judgment, leave it to the reader, to us, to decide who - if anyone - is good, who is bad, and to whom. All while turning the spotlight on the day-to-day tragedies of which human folly are made.
I said before that it was not entertaining per se, but instead thought-provoking and troubling. Despite its quotidian subject matter, or perhaps because of it, I found it disturbing. Each major character lives a life with which the viewer can easily identify. That said, they are real in some way, rather than being types or stereotypes. Each, in order to "just get by" is compromised or, rather, has made some choice which compromises them: Each chooses depend on someone else out of a sense of either helplessness - or entitlement. They exploit their relationships, and the power imbalances within them, to achieve what they want, rather than working to achieve a balance that is mutually beneficial and supportive.
The central characters are Vladimir, a wealthy businessman of some sort, somewhat past 60, and his wife, Elena, somewhat younger. They met when he was a patient in a hospital, appendicitis if I remember correctly, and she - a nurse. They have been together for approximately ten years, married for a rather shorter time, and each has a child--now an adult--from a previous marriage.
As I was watching the film, I considered that perhaps Katya, Vladimir's daughter, was the potential exception, the character who, despite superficial appearances, defies to the above characterization. Now I'm certain that it fits her as well. She plays her father expertly, as only daddy's girl can. At the same time, there's a something in her expression, speech, and body language that suggests that she despises him for the very thing that gives their relationship any footing at all, his unquestioning provision of anything material she requests. She despises him in a way, I think, a person can only despise one to whom they owe a debt. Thus Katya's compromise; she craves independence from her stern but doting father, but she depends on his money--and the expectation of his inheritance.
However, we also see her relationship to Elena, her ostensible step-mother. Elena feels acutely Katya's haughty sense of superiority based on class, education, wealth, and status. Katya is rude and dismissive, and Elena returns the favor by denouncing her to her father as a spoiled brat, to whom he has never denied anything.
Concomitantly, Elena's relationship with Vladimir is another compromise. Whatever the conditions and nature of their relationship in the past, it is now a sort of dystopian sort of world-turned-inside-out. He needs (or rather, has) not a wife, but a maid, cook, and nurse. They have a sexual relationship, but there is little warmth between them. In fact, the film's first line of dialogue sets the tone. Him, to her, over the breakfast that she prepares him daily: "The oats are good." Each of those aforementioned roles she plays while occupying her own modest bedroom at the other end of their otherwise opulent apartment in a posh Moscow neighborhood. Her material needs are met, but it is very clear that her emotional ones are anything but fulfilled.
Vladimir, on the other hand, retains all power, not the least of which are control over finances and the right to a wandering philanderer's eye, evidenced by his ogling of a woman in the gym just moments before the heart attack that, after some twenty-five or thirty minutes of growing tension and sparse and therefore effective movie-score strings, sets the plot in motion.
Thus he has made his choices: he has made her dependent on him financially, while being dependent on her to care for him both before, and most certainly after, the heart attack incapacitates him. He has also made his choices. Moreover, he professes that he refuses to help her son out of "tough love" toward Sergei, regardless of his willingness to provide anything for Katya. Eventually, he contemplates reserving not half of, but his entire estate for Katya in a petulant attempt to keep her son and his family away from his wealth.
And then there is the son himself, Sergei. And his own wife, son, baby, and, as we learn, a third child soon-to-be. They are as close as Zviagintsev comes to allowing himself stereotypes. However, as far as I am aware, Russian film has thus far little portrayed their type and so it has somehow avoided becoming trite, cliched. They are, in an attempt to place them in American terms, urban white trash.
Early in the film, we watch Elena leave the marbled halls of the tower in which she is caged. She collects her modest state pension and journeys far beyond the edges of Moscow to the post-industrial wasteland in the shadow of a power plant where their apartment is situated. She delivers the stash of rubles (and a bag of groceries bought on Vladimir's dime) into the hands of Sasha, who pockets a little for cheap beer and gives the rest to his wife for the provision of food. This portrays their poverty, the class divide between the Vladimir and his wife, and the physical decay of the post-Soviet Russian reality for those beyond Moscow's glitter and glam. It also serves to demonstrate Sergei's helpless but entitled dependence on troubled, even desperate, yet comfortable Elena.
But they want more from Vladimir, whom they hardly know, and who cannot tolerate the thought of helping "others." What Sergei and his tragically overstretched wife want is for the elder son--Sasha--to avoid military service (to be avoided at any cost in Russia, given the living conditions and hazing by most accounts rampant) by gaining entry into higher education.
The young man is aimless, probably blamelessly, given the socio-economic conditions of the post-industrial wasteland that surrounds their apartment block. His way out - gaining access to higher education on his own merit - he closes by avoiding study in favor ofss, probably blamelessly, given the socio-economic conditions of the post-industrial wasteland that surrounds their apartment block. His way out - gaining access to higher education on his own merit - he closes by avoiding study in favor of first person shooter games and petty brawling between his clique of friends and its neighboring counterparts. Thus it will take money to buy his way, by hook or by crook, into a university or college.
The wife is, although a minor character, more sympathetic than any. She attempts to maintain order, culture, and decorum in the face of a slobbish husband and a surly teenage son, but she manages neither exercise her considerable authority in the family to encourage Sergei to do anything but drink beer and get her pregnant, nor to induce Sasha into taking his education seriously.
Without giving too much away, Elena takes drastic action to secure the grandson's admission and a substantially more comfortable existence for her son, daughter-in-law, and their 2.3 children. That leads, of course, to the ultimate question: Are her actions moral, the 'right thing to do'? Is everything, including harm to a man who is in many regards reprehensible, permissible to secure the material needs of those who are dependent on you?
We are, as the audience, expected to see her as the protagonist. But are we to be sympathetic? In a Hollywood multiplex block-hit cine-buster, there would be clear good guys and clear bad guys. But here, the point is finer. In fact, I think it sits on the point of a pin. Is blood thicker than water, or whatever makes up the bond that holds Elena and Vladimir together?
To be honest, I think I could sympathize more with her if her actions toward him were in revenge for the apparent emotional abusiveness of their relationship, rather than in pursuit of the money.
At bottom, the conflict is about money. But where does that get them? Vladimir had it, but was he a good person? A happy person? And Katya? She has it, but is she happy? And as for lacking it, Sasha, the lump that he is, has a certain childish joie de vivre, despite the poverty and chaos around him.
On the one hand, money as the motivating force for the plot disappoints, for it seems such a hackneyed, trite way for an artist to create a conflict for his tale. And yet, there is something true in that struggle, which seems to consume us all. And this, with a nod toward another film I've seen recently, honors Hemingway's dictum that an artist's work is good because it is true. This is not a commentary on Russia's upper crust, although theirs is the pursuit of money. It is not a condemnation even of Russian society, but rather of all of us. You might grandly say, of our entire civilization.
And that brings me to a final point: Chekhov. I'll bet you didn't see that coming. This film has more than a little something of Chekhov within. As I was watching, I thought of this Chekhov short story. Chekhov is esteemed - rightly so, in my humble opinion - by many, especially beyond Russia, because there is something universal in his stories. His stories, in a way that those of most other great Russian writers do not, works in translation. He created the believable, the typical, but not with stereotypes. His stories place the reader in situations in which something universal resonates. These situations, lacking an author-imposed apparatus of moral judgment, leave it to the reader, to us, to decide who - if anyone - is good, who is bad, and to whom. All while turning the spotlight on the day-to-day tragedies of which human folly are made.
No comments:
Post a Comment